Thirteen Reasons Left Behind
by Evangeline Elibeth Mariette
Summary: Hannah Baker wants to die. But when she opens up to Clay at the party, those thoughts fall away and are replaced as he shows her over time how to squeeze the juice out of the lemons life sells you.
1. To Save Your Heart, I Give You Mine

~ I know, I know, there're already several different versions of an alternate ending to the party scene - and therefore the entire book - but I had to write my own. And another thing... I read this book several months ago, so forgive any mistakes I make regarding things that actually happened in the book.

Please, be kind people. This is my first story (obviously), so... enjoy! :)

P.S. I don't own any part of Thirteen Reasons Why, nor do I own Hannah and Clay. I only own the frickin' tears Jay Asher caused me to shed while I was reading this book. ~

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Chapter One: To Save Your Heart, I Give You Mine

It's all I can do not to die inside at the sight of this beautiful girl crying before me. I don't know what to do, and she's begging me to leave; half of me wants to consent to her pleas, while the other half screams inside my head, ordering me to hold her and never let go. It's obvious I should go with the latter, and I want to, of course. Still, some part of me feels that going against her wishes will make it worse. Either way, I have to decide soon, or all hope will be lost, and this fallen angel will be left to die alone in her mind.

I make my decision, and in a milisecond I'm back across the room. Gently pulling her face from the pillow she'd been shrieking into, I hold her soft, tear-streaked cheeks in my hands and force her to look into my eyes.

"Please, tell me," I whisper, searching her bright eyes; there are no words to describe the pain felt there. "Hannah, I only want to help you...."

She looks away, and her hands release their fierce grasp on the pillow, reaching up to meet my own. She curls her fingers around mine, slowly removing my hands from her face, and once she has them fully away and clutched in her own, she drops them, and my hands fall back to my sides. It's agonizing to watch, because I can tell she didn't really want to let me go.

"Go away." She looks at me then, pleading against her own words with her eyes, but daring me to listen to the order falling from her lips, daring me to prove I really am different from all the rest.

I take a step closer to the bed, to where she's sitting on the very edge, with shoulders hunched. I attempt to say something, but she cuts me off with the same words, only her voice has grown in volume.

"Go away," she repeats a third time, her voice louder still, until she's yelling. "Just go!"

"I won't leave you," and before the words are completely out, I've got my arms around her. To my surprise, she's hugging me back, her arms locked around me as if she thought I were going to evaporate - as if at any moment I would change my mind, and stalk out the door. "I will never leave you, Hannah."

"I wish...." she begins, but lets the rest trail off into nothing more than a breath.

"What?" I ask in little more than a whisper.

"I wish sometimes, wish that the world didn't hold so many layers of Hell, so many degrees of pain." She sighs and lets out a single sob into my chest, where she has buried her face. "I... I wish sometimes I could die. That I could just cease to exist. I would lie cold in death, and no one would care." The last part cuts at my heart, and I hold her tighter. It makes me remember all those nights at the theater, wanting to ask her... wanting to tell her... needing her to see.

"No, no, no, I would care." I pulled away slightly, looking at her face. "Don't you see? Can't you tell? Hannah, I love you...." I can hardly believe I've just put into words the secret feeling I've sheltered for quite awhile now, but it's been said, and it can't be taken back - you can't take back the truth. And why would you want to?

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Did you like that at all? Review! I have the second chapter ready, and a third in the making... if anyone cares, that is. So please, review for the sake of Hannah and Clay!


	2. I Can Only See That Which Is Shown To Me

~ Thank you for reading the first chapter (obviously, you have, if you've made it to here)!

P.S. No, I don't own Thirteen Reasons Why, it belongs to Jay Asher, as do Clay and Hannah. ~

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Chapter Two: I Can Only See That Which Is Shown To Me

That was like a slap in the face, and I am forced to look up at him once more. How could someone be so heartless as to lie like that? How could Clay, of all people, do that...

"No, you don't. You can't," is all I can think to say through the pain I feel.

"Hannah, please, just look at me. Look at my eyes," But I can't; I fear I know what I'll find - that he wasn't lying. And I don't need to see that. I've already made up my mind... "Hannah, I'm begging you!"

The urgency in his voice is possessive, and I can't help it. I look into his eyes and the honesty I see there kills the pain momentarily. I want to cry out at the shock and pleasure of that weighted awfulness being released, no matter how temporary it is.

"Oh, my god," I mutter under my breath, hoping he can't hear the astonishment in my voice. Am I really loved by this boy? Or is he just that good at lying? No matter how hard I want to believe, I can't shake the feeling that it's not real emotion in his eyes; I can't make myself believe it, because somewhere deep, a place I've locked away, I love him too, have for a while, and if it were a lie, I wouldn't be able to take the fresh pain.

"Hannah, I do," he pleads with me to listen, pleads with his eyes, and says, "Can't you see it? It's right here, it's been here... right in front of you...." His voice is only a breaking whisper, and it toys with my thoughts, spinning them towards that locked sanctuary in my head. It's like a prisoner, its locks beginning to rattle, and it rips itself free of the chains. All those thoughts silently raining themselves into puddles on the ground of my brain, the sky of my mind clearing to show the sun. Suddenly I know he's speaking the truth, and I remember every little gesture he's made towards me in all the time I've known him, all the hidden meaning in things he's said, all the little movements. It's been there all along, and this whole time I've been blinded by the torture others inflicted on me... I feel so stupid now knowing all I had to do was open my eyes, and the pain could vanish in his arms. I could vanish in his arms. Be a new Hannah... Be a better Hannah.

And with that last thought, I lose myself to him, for the time being. I spill every thought I've ever had about suicide, all my reasons for wanting it so badly, all of my everything. I tell him, and he listens, unbelievably, he listens. And whats more, he seems to care. Oh God, how I've waited for someone to care...

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Thanks again for reading, please review! I have a habit of convincing myself I get worse over time, so if you're interesting in reading the rest, you should definitely review, or I might give up! :( That would be a sad day. Also, if you like this, I started another fic for 13 Reasons, with a bit of a suspenseful twist, if you're interested... I think I'll call it **And I Will Pull The Trigger** (no, it's not about suicide again, I promise)... so please go read that as well. :)


	3. Is Beauty Born, Or Is It Made?

~ Thank you for reading :) Please enjoy chapter three!

P.S. Again, I do not own 13 Reasons Why, or the characters... :) ~

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Chapter Three: Is Beauty Born, Or Is It Made?

I can feel her eyes on me, waiting for me to process everything she's told me, make some comment. I honestly don't know what to say, so I say this: "Shh, don't cry," and caress her warm back. True, she has been crying throughout her entire story - if that's what you call it - so the phrase fits, but I still feel like I should say something more. And I'm about to, when the door bursts open and there's one of the guys from school, dragging in a limp girl whose face I can't see.

"Sorry, thought it was empty," he mutters and heads out and off in search of another room.

The door drifts closed, and Hannah looks up at me. "I'm sorry I told you. I didn't mean to, I -- " I cut her off, my finger to her lips.

"Don't worry about it, 'kay?" I tell her, trying to conceal from my voice the fact that I want to harm, to torture, every person who had ever helped cause this awful mess of pain to build up inside of her. "C'mon, you wanna take a walk?"

"Yes," it is a mere whisper, gliding out on a puff of air.

In a few seconds, we are up and standing by the door, and she's about to grab the handle, but I stop her, taking each of her hands with mine.

She still has tears stained on her cheeks, I notice, and I reach up to wipe them away, gently brushing her face clean. The contact sends a fresh mixture of love, rage, and an added feeling of helplessness through me, and I want to do several things at once, but only choose one.

Ever so gently, I lean my face down in close and lightly brush my lips against hers, to which she responds by actually kissing me, not like before, but softly - a quietly pulsing love enclosed in that little action.

And then we're out the door, and she silently intertwines the fingers of her left hand with my right, and I'm leading us through the halls, through the chaos of the party, out into the fresh air. As we step out onto the porch, I can hear her inhaling, hear the pleased sigh that escapes her as the air fills her lungs. It is utterly maddening to think this lovely creature, enjoying this small pleasure, could hurt as much as she does. But all the same, the hurt is there.

"Where would you like to go?" I ask her.

"I don't know...,"she starts, but then interrupts herself with, "The park."

"To the park, then," I turn and smile down at her, sqeezing her hand slightly. She looks down and seems to realize that she is still holding my hand, blushes, and for a moment she starts to let go, but instead only gets a firmer grip around my fingers. My heart skips a beat at this, and I feel the heat rising in my own cheeks.

For the whole way to the park, we walk silently side by side. When we reach the sandy playground, she slowly lets go of my hand, as if she were slightly regretful, and walks over to the swings.

As I sit down beside her, swinging in tune with her same rhythm, I find myself thinking: Is beauty born, or is it made?

I stare at her in all her beauty, as she looks out over the trees at the moon and stars in the distance. Sure outter beauty can be born, but I think inner beauty, your true heart and self, is made, created... learned. I think it's a skill, or rather a trait, we hone down and mend, just as we mend broken hearts, and we mold it into what becomes us and our personalities, what makes us who we are. And then I think: What is it that has seemingly deemed me worthy of loving something so beautiful?

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Did you like it? I hope so, so please review, of course! 8)


	4. Finding Home

~ If you're this far, than you obviously like my story... I hope I don't disappoint! And thank you to those who reviewed :)

P.S. I don't own 13 Reasons, duh! 8) ~

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Chapter Four: Finding Home

We swang for quite some time in the park before I accidentally let out a yawn, and Clay realized I was tired. I've kicked myself mentally several times already, but it's no use. Now, at this moment, we are walking me home. I can feel his eyes on me as we walk, and while normally that would be creepy and send chills down my spine, it feels nice to be watched for once. It feels good to know someone finds me worth looking at.

"Hannah, I wish you could see yourself right now." I turn to him, surprised and baffled at his words. He has one of those looks on his face, like _Oh, crap. Did I just say that out loud?_ Then he lets the most beautiful compliment I have ever recieved fall out of his mouth. "In the moonlight, your hair looks like what I would imagine silver honey to look like. Soft, flowing honey, but the color a shimmering silver...," he looks away, his cheeks reddening, and then steals a quick glance back at me, no doubt looking for my reaction. I just squeeze his hand gently, not knowing what else to do, since all my body wants is to stop him and hug him for dear life; I can't do that, because I would feel slightly ridiculous, as if I would be overreacting.

We've reached my doorway now. Standing on the porch, I turn to him, looking up into his eyes, and out of no where, a tear rolls down my cheek. I wrap my arms around his waist, and he in turn does the same around my shoulders, resting his head on my hair.

"I'll never leave, Hannah," he whispers. "I do love you."

"I love you, too, Clay. I know," I answer. I shift my head, just enough so that he lifts his own off of mine, and then I look up into his eyes again, seeing everything I'd seen earlier in that bedroom, and the honesty is still startling. I reach up a little further, kissing him gently and then pulling away before he can return it. With that final action, I pull out of his arms, meaning to reach for the handle and go into my house, but before I can, my mother rips open the door.

"Where the hel--" she begins, but breaks off when her eyes fall on Clay. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"No problem, I was just bringing Hannah home." To my astonishment, he sounds very, very calm under my mothers wicked gaze.

"Well, um, thank you for that." She grabs at her robe, tightening it around herself. "It is pretty late, we should probably let you get home... Surely your parents are wondering...," she can't seem to find the words, and when I look at her, I can see in her eyes that she is just as amazed as I am that I'm with a pleasant boy, let alone a boy at all.

"Yes, it is getting late. I'll see you two tomorrow, if you wouldn't mind...?" He lets the question trail off and my mother answers with a small nod and, surprising me again, a smile. And then Clay has said goodnight and is gone, walking down my driveway and onto the sidewalk, and my mother's warm hand is pulling me inside.

I expect to be lectured a bit, yelled at even, but instead, she actually seems pleased. She just smiles and says goodnight before walking off to her bedroom, leaving me alone in my dark living room. I can't quite figure out what to do with myself, and walk into the kitchen. We don't seem to have any water, or milk, so I poor myself a glass of orange juice, and walk up the stairs to my own room.

I finish off the glass and set it down, then pull my shirt over my head. I walk over to my dresser and whip out a pair of basketball shorts and a tanktop; I can't see which colors because my light is off, and frankly, I don't care. I strip myself of jeans and bra, and step into the pajamas, feeling good all over at the touch of soft, clean fabric. I can't honestly remember the last time I noticed how something felt against my skin. I can't remember the last time I cared.

I walk over to my bed, and out of the corner of my eye, I see my bottle of Motrin lying on the floor under my desk. For a moment I look at it almost longingly before suddenly screaming at myself in my head for ever letting it cross my mind that I could swallow every last one of those and feel free finally, as if that would take all the pain away. But then I remember that I can't yell at myself over longing to end something the only way I thought was available.

And at that moment, it occurs to me that the pain wouldn't have just evaporated into the air, it would've been passed over to everyone else. My family. The people who've hurt me. It would be like a ripple effect on a lake - I would be throwing myself off into the cold darkness and everyone else would feel the aftershock.

But none of that matters now, none of it ever has to bother me again. I can leave that newly locked box behind, and I can start fresh, because now I've found my home, my place. I have found where I belong, where someone can know me and love me and care.

I've found my home, my place, my sanctuary, in the heart of a boy named Clay Jenkins, and, for that, I owe him the world.

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Please, review if you liked it, and review if you didn't! I honestly just want to confirm that someone is reading this stuff, ha :) And I will try to write new chapters, but so far I haven't had much time. And if you have read And I Will Pull The Trigger, I will post new chapters on that soon-ish. I'm going to read the book again first though so it may be awhile. :)


	5. Paper Flowers

~ Sorry dudes, didn't mean to take so long, but I just got the book again and spent all today reading it. I wanted to re-read it, you know. Refresh my memory. Now I think we're ready to finish it out. Soon. Hopefully a couple more chapters :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing, yada yada. Now, read on, soldier! ~

Chapter Five: Paper Flowers

After I left Hannah last night, I went for a walk, then went to my own home. And that's all I remember of it. It's like only having the outline to an essay, instead of the actual essay. No details. As if, after leaving her last night, my world became dull, colorless, emotionless. I don't seem to feel anything until I think of Hannah. I've got to see her again, and soon.

So now I'm at home, walking around aimlessly from room to room. I told Hannah and her mother that I would see them both today, but I can't think of an excuse to go over there, aside from the fact that I want to see the girl I believe I'm in love with.

"Hey kid, what are you doing today?" My mom asks as she walks into the kitchen, taking a seat in a chair next to where I am leaning against the kitchen table.

"I'm supposed to go see a girl...," immediately, I regret having let the words out.

"Oooooh, a girl, huh? Who is it?" She's out of her chair now, excitement burning in her eyes. Obviously, it's been a long time since I've had a girlfriend, and an even longer time since I've shared information with my mom. No going back now.

"Hannah Baker... we hung out last night. No big deal. So I'm going to see her again today."

"I don't remember her. I would love to meet her though; by the looks of that blush, I'd say you really like her." I look at the floor, trying pointlessly to hide my face. My mom was wonderful, sure. But embarrassing, yes, definitely. Then again, all moms probably are.

"Yeah...,"

"Oh, hey. I have an idea. Why don't you stay here today, help me clean out the garage." At the sight of my face, which I'm sure is very discouraging, my mom is quick to add that I could invite Hannah to help, as if that will make me want to stay any more than I already do.

"Sure, Mom, that's going to make the girl like me. Sure."

"Well, I do really need to clean out the garage, though. Seriously, I could use the help," she pauses, taking in my face once more. "Your dad has to work, who else do I have?"

"Fine. At least now I have a buyable excuse. Ha," I cross the kitchen, pick up the phone, and dial the number I've already memorized.

Ringing fills my head for about thirty seconds before someone picks up.

"Baker's residence," I stifle a laugh at this. She's being sarcastic just for me, I'm sure.

"Yes, is Hannah there, please?"

"Yes, I'll be right with you." Her voice had taken on a manly tone, but when it comes back it's normal again. "Hi, who's this asking for me?"

"Clay Jensen. Is this Hannah?" The sarcastic formality of the conversation so far has such a weird feeling about it, but is still funny. My mother's expression isn't helping either; she looks like she may explode giggling any second.

"Why, yes. Yes, it is. Can I help you, Mr. Jensen?"

"Yes, Miss Baker, I believe you can. You see, I have this problem. Terribly cramped space, you see." My voice has now assumed a strange English accent, and Hannah is openly laughing on the other end. Her laugh is extremely contageous and, hard as I try, I can't help but crack every so often between my next words. "And, well. I need your service, I'm afraid. I need your fine services to help me clean up this awful mess, if you'd be so kind. _Would_ you be so kind, Miss? I do so hope you would."

"I believe I would. I would love to clean a terribly cramped space with you. Sounds strapping good." Her voice has taken over my accent, and it's even better hearing it from her.

"Yes, yes, very good. Very good, indeed. Shall I come walk you over? Say, fifteen minutes?"

"Yes, I suppose you shall. I should very much like to say fifteen minutes. Sounds fine. I'll see you then, kind sir. Good-bye."

"Bye, Hannah." _Click._ And now to turn around and face my mother.

"What was that?" She says this between giggles.

"I have absolutely no idea, whatsoever. That accent? I've never talked like that in my life." I assume the voice of an Englishman once again. "Quite frankly, my dear, I hope I never do again. After this, of course." I laugh again at how ridiculous I sound. How ridiculous I feel.

"Well, I loved that. I bet Hannah did to. You better get on it, if you're gonna make it there in fifteen minute, too. Don't wanna be late for your _fine services_," she draggs the words out and smiles again.

"Right. See ya soon." I walk over and kiss her on the forehead as she has done to me so many times, then I turn and head out the side door.

Hannah's house is several blocks away, and it may very well take fifteen minutes to get there, so I start at a fairly quick speed. I feel like I can smell everything, hear everything, taste everything in the air. It's amazing, beautiful. Amazingly beautiful. I love it, I love this feeling. And then I wonder if Hannah feels this way. If she feels anything for me like I feel for her. I sincerely hope so, otherwise she's a very convincing actress.

The walk to her house goes by faster than I thought it would, and before I know it, I'm on her doorstep. So, of course, I knock.

"Just a sec," I hear from behind the door, and then it opens. "Oh, hello. You're the boy from last night, correct?"

"Yes, I am. It's nice to see you again, Mrs. Baker," I say, hoping she isn't mad or anything about me bringing Hannah home late last night.

"You too. May I ask why you're gracing us with your presence again today?" I think she's trying to make it sound stern, like I should know better than to be there, but I can see the hint of joy in her eyes.

"Hannah was going to help my mother and I clean out our garage today, if you wouldn't mind. We're preparing for a yard-sale, and Hannah offered to help."

"Oh," she mutters, sounding surprised, still that twinge of pleasure in her eye. She must be enjoying seeing her daughter out with someone, after all the months of being so quiet and alone. Of course, it didn't help that they grounded her over a few bad grades. They could've asked what was wrong... But anyway, that's beside the point. I pull myself out of my thoughts to hear Hannah's mom saying, "Well, she is grounded, but I suppose a little manual labor never hurt anyone; if anything, it'll do her a little good." She smirks.

"Yes, and knowing my mom, and my garage, we have a lot of work ahead of us." Actually, I'm just realizing now how much work we actually have ahead of us. What have I gotten Hannah into? Then I remember all the kinds of things we have in there, like my old cloth diapers, or old family photos. Oh, God. I don't want Hannah to see those. Crap. Oh well, too late now. Before my thoughts can show on my face, I put on a fresh smile.

"Mom! Why didn't you tell me Clay was here?" Hannah comes rushing down the hall. "I'm so sorry, I guess I didn't hear you knock." At seeing her daughter so works up over something, so excited, Mrs. Baker actually, genuinely, smiles. Just like Hannah's, it's very pretty. For a moment, she even looks like she might laugh, but instead she just walks back down the hall, muttering something like _nice talking with you_, and then is gone. I'm left facing Hannah in a slightly awkward silence.

I take in the sight of her, and, as always, she's breath-taking. Her hair is sitting just right, the soft dirty-blonde locks caressing her face, her eyes shining in a way I've never seen them before. It isn't particularly warm today, and not particularly cold, so there's no need for a jacket; Hannah's wearing just a regular T-shirt and jeans, nothing special, and yet they're special simply because they're being worn by her. It's strange how differently you see someone once the situation changes, in this case for the better.

Finally, I break the silence.

"So... Are we ready to clean out my garage?"

"Wouldn't want to delay such a wonderful event." The statement comes out sarcastic, but her eyes are saying just how much she really does want to be there, with me... cleaning... with my mom... I chuckle a bit at the thought.

"Well, then. No time to lose," I say and hook my arm, through which she hooks her own. And we set off down the street.

About half-way back to my house, Hannah asks me what I'm talking about, and I realize I haven't just been thinking the same thing over and over, but I've been saying it out loud, too, and before I can stop myself, I say it one more time.

"Paper flowers,"

"And I repeat: what?"

"Oh, I didn't realize I had said that out loud," I look away, feeling silly.

"Well, you did. What'd you mean by it?"

"Um, it's just all the girls at school."

Her face drops, partly showing confusion, partly showing hurt, probably because she assumes I've been thinking about other girls and not her, which isn't the case at all.

"The whole school is filled with paper flowers, Hannah, save for one." I look down into her eyes as we walk, then return my gaze to straight ahead, making sure I don't accidentally walk into a sidewalk tree or a pole or something. "They're all pretty on the outside, sure, but go any deeper and you realize they're just paper, nothing more than pretty colors. But that other one, she's real. A real flower, beautiful inside and out, just hidden among the field of paper flowers."

She still looks a bit confused, but the hurt is gone, curiosity and a blush taking its place.

"You're that lone flower, Hannah, and I guess I'm whatever you call the thing that gets to find that real flower," I finish explaining. "At least, I hope I am, but that's kinda up to you." It's my turn to blush a bit, and I turn my face slightly away.

Without a word, she lifts up onto her tip-toes and kisses my cheek. The warm of her lips stops my heart momentarily, before allowing it to take off again at full speed. I can't find any more words, so I just smile down at her, not caring about the blush or the dumb expression on my face.

We walk the rest of the way to my house in silence, because the blissful static between us says it all.

I hope you all liked that, those of you who keep up on this story! I know this one was kind of... I don't know, I guess you could say _cheesey_ but that word probably doesn't fit... anyway, I still like it. I think it was a good chapter. What did you think? Reviews are always helpful, especially since I have no idea how I'm going to end this story, and, of course, suggestions are helpful, too. :) Take care, and thanks for reading!

P.S. sorry for any spelling or grammatical errors! It's literally 1:20 a.m. right now, and while usually that's no big deal for me, I'm dead tired tonight, and I'm surprised I made it to the end of this chapter! So bare with me! :)


	6. You Drive Me Crazy

**~Thank you to all who follow this story! :) I hope this reaches your expectations! **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing of the book, or characters. Only the fact that Clay's name is Marie in this story, because I could not find anywhere in the book that said her first name. ~**

Chapter Six: You Drive Me Crazy

I haven't let go of this blush since Clay began talking about paper flowers and the likes. And I'm about to have to face his mom. We're walking up to his doorstep, and suddenly I feel very, very self-consious. I feel awkward now, my arm linked with Clay's. A million-and-one thoughts, at least, are going through my head, stuck at the fore-most front are the ones revolving around _Oh, God. What's his mom going to think about me? About our arms linked? About..._. I don't even want to think about his dad, and I am thankful he's not home. Dad's are always scary, even when they're not the scary type. In fact, that's got to be worse, because then they're liable to try to become your friend. Oh God.

When we walk through the door, his mother is right there, sitting in a chair at the dining nook.

"Well, hello there!" she calls warmly, rising from the chair and extending a hand. Immediately, probably a little bit too fast, I yank my arm from Clay's, and then realizing how silly it was, I laugh. Mrs. Jensen has a good, firm hand shake, and normally, on any other woman, I think I might find it intimidating, but instead it just adds to the warmth radiating off of her.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Jensen," I say. "I'm Hannah."

"Nice to meet you, too," she lets go of my hand, but holds my gaze. "And you can call me Marie."

Meanwhile, during our little chat, Clay had been rummaging around in the fridge, and now pulls his head out, producing two Coca-Colas.

"Hannah, you want a soda? Mom?" He asks.

"Uh," Marie pauses and puts a hand to her stomach, blowing air out through her closed lips, creating that speedboat-immitation sound. "Better not. Too much sugar today."

"Whatever, Mom. Too much sugar never hurt anyone...," he trails off, then turns to me. "Hannah?"

"Um, yeah, I think I will. Thanks," I say, trying not to giggle at Marie's mumbled comment behind me.

"Not anyone except most of America," she pracitcally whispered it as she walked out of the room. Then, louder, came the sound of her voice from the hall, "You ready?"

"You bet," I call after her, then turn back to Clay and wait for him to get his own soda, before reaching my hand out to his.

Silently, he leads me through the hall, out of a back door and into the garage. It is piled full of stuff. Piled. Full. Stuff. Everywhere. I can already tell this is going to take all day.

"Okay, where do you guys want to start?" His mom is standing between a few of the piles, hands on her hips, looking like she's not the least bit stressed about this job.

At seeing the looks on our faces, she says, "Okay, I'll start with the boxes. You two take those cupboards and the shelves."

I look behind me to see where she's pointing. I look back to her and nod. She sets off to the other side of the garage, and Clay and I get started.

"Oh, God," Clay says. I look over, and he's messing with an old stereo, and a box of cassette tapes.

He picks one and pops it in, and a song I recognize, but don't know the name of, comes on.

"You drive me crazy, ooh, ooh, like no one else," Clay and his mom both sing along. "You drive me crazy, ooh, ooh, and I can't help myself." I can't help it and laugh at them, and they join in.

We work for hours, until mid-afternoon rolls around. Now, we are all sitting around the kitchen table again, exhausted.

"Well, you kids hungry?" Marie asks.

"Yes," Clay says. I just nod, too tired to open my mouth.

"Home-made pizza?" she asks.

This time we nod vigorously, the lazy feeling suddenly knocked from our bones. Marie just laughs, and turns back to the counter where she is pulling out ingredients.

"Oh, Clay, we're out of sauce. Wanna run down to the store for me?" Marie asks, and then turns to me. "Hannah, you wanna stay and help me make the crust?"

"Sure," I say, looking to Clay to see his reaction.

"All right. Mom, where're your keys?" He asks. Marie points to a cupboard by the door. "Cool. See you," he retrieves the keys from where they're hanging inside the cupboard door and then walks over and pecks me on the cheek. And then he's gone out the door.

"Aw, how cute," I say, and laugh a bit.

"Yeah, that's Clay for ya," Marie says with a smile. "Now, get the flower...."

We spend the next half-hour fixing the pizza, talking and laughing about nothing and anything, waiting for Clay to come back.

**~ Thank you for reading! I'll update next chance I get! Review please! :) ~**


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